It Was My Choice
by damigella
Summary: One/shot. What if Wilson could take on himself House's infarction pain? Friendship or romance, no slash. Sad and intense. Rated T for adult themes.


**A/N** I can't find the strength to watch the newest episode 7/11, after reading there will be no Wilson at all in it. It is my opinion that the "good" people at Fox are trying to cleanse the show: no drugs, lots of religion, and no same sex romances. At least, no happy ones. So I'm back to watching again the past seasons. I've finished writing The Truth and a oneshot and they're being beta'ed, so while waiting I wrote a love story without the word love in it.

Disclaimer. If I had control about what happens, the show would be discussing how House and Wilson plan to celebrate their wedding. I don't, and they don't.

Edited to Add: many thanks to reader betababe, who corrected a word. betababe, thank you so much!

* * *

He still felt this made no sense at all. He was a man of science, and this was pure superstition. But when science can't help you anymore, and no God seems to listen, anything that gives hope is welcome. He knocked at the door.

* * *

"Ok, I understand the situation. What is it you want?"

"I want him healed. Healthy. The way he would have been had there been no infarction. His life, unbroken."

"How much are you willing to pay?"

His eyes were steady, fixed into the old woman's. "Whatever you want. I can sell my house, go into debt."

"That's not what I meant. I can't change the world, just rearrange it."

"What do you mean?"

"You can choose to have the infarction of the leg muscle happen to you instead."

"That's not bad. I'll know it's an infarction, I'll have it cured immediately."

"You don't understand. You will have the infarction the day House had it, and your life and everybody else's will go on, with all memories of what could have been erased."

"Even mine? I won't remember what I did for my friend?"

"You will. For one hour, starting today, now. After that, I will ask you to choose: make it permanent, or go back to current reality. Either way, memories of the reality you haven't chosen (plus our meetings) will be erased."

He considered, briefly. "Tell me what I have to do."

* * *

Wilson was sitting on his couch, a pizza slice on his lap, soda can within easy reach and his bad leg pulled up on a pillow on the coffee table, when the memory flooded back. He started comparing the world he remembered with the one he was living in now.

Over the mantelpiece was a framed photo of House's marriage with Stacy, where he had been the best man. Then he could still walk with a cane. Now he often needed a walker, and on bad days the wheelchair. He still had lunch together with House almost every day, but they didn't see so much of each other outside work. House was physically very active, practicing golf, lacrosse and running, and he spent a lot of time with his family as well. Nearby on the mantelpiece was a photo of Jamie, his beloved goddaughter, smiling while holding her newborn brother. He had been a bit worried about being a Jewish godfather, but since Jamie had never been christened it was probably all right.

Wilson spent most of his evenings alone, with occasional visits by a couple of fellow oncologists or invitations at House's or Cuddy's place. Nobody knew that he had been Lisa's sperm donor, and he had signed away any parental rights, but he was very grateful to her all the same and loved watching the twins grow up. He basically hadn't had sex with anyone after the infarction; House had once said (only partially in jest) that he could pay him a hooker, but Wilson had been so upset by the suggestion that the subject had never been mentioned again.

He sighed as he finished his pizza, and used the remaining soda to swallow a prescription-strength Ibuprofen. Luckily pain management was working reasonably well: the mixture of opiates, hot baths and OTC medication managed to keep him in working condition without straining his liver. He had had to completely go off alcohol, though. And at some point not too far in the future he might need to consider assisted living, if, or rather when, his condition deteriorated. So far he was doing better than expected, as he was very careful with his physical therapy.

He realized he couldn't stay sitting much longer, however much he wanted to. Very slowly he pulled himself on the wheelchair and rolled to the bathroom. At first it had seemed weird to pee while sitting, but now he was used to it, and was able to move back and forth between the wheelchair and the toilet with ease. As he rolled himself back to the living room, he was startled when the old woman showed up in front of him. "So, here's what you chose for yourself. Is it what you want, or do you prefer to go back?"

Wilson looked around at the large shelf with the pain medication, at the walker, his gaze covering most of the whole, handicapped accessible flat, ending on his own callused hands. Then he looked at the photos on the mantelpiece. He sighed. "I'd rather keep it as it is. But... if at all possible, I would like to remember that it was my choice."

* * *

**A/N** Yes, I know, this is ooc. And too sappy, in case I understand what sappy means.  
I thought I hated supernatural stuff, except I don't. In fact, it appears I find it soothing.


End file.
